Akin to Angels
by Morgan Gabriela
Summary: So it seems England has dipped it's hands in dirty water, and finally hired what they desperately need. A privateer, but one of their Navy all the same. But he was a member of one of the most feared French pirate families in the whole of the Caribbean.


Disclaimer: I do not own any PotC characters, settings, or other affiliated things. I do own everything that you do not recognize, for instance, the ship with no name is mine. Thank you.

CHAPTER ONE – A SHIP ON THE HORIZON

The figure stood, leaning on the bow of the ship, staring out at the endless ocean, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Hair bound up as women do, her eyes were a dark green, her hair a shade of brown closer to chocolate. A thin dress hung from her shoulders, her stance proved she was not any ordinary woman. This was the only thing to prove that she was not, though, as she wore the make-up -and probably the corset- of the fashionable women. Not that this particular woman cared for fashions, it just appeared she did.

Her name was Tristintia Nervan, she was 26 years old, and had been married for 8 of those twenty-six years. In the lines of her face, it was proven she had suffered much, but not so much to scar her. In her eyes though, were the troubles and cares of those twice her age or more. But she didn't speak of troubles. Her voice seldom spoke at all. After all, she was on a merchant ship, with a crew of seamen, after bartering passage on it with the better part of the money her father had given her to get her off on her own.

This was because her husband wasn't around. He was in the Caribbean, where she was heading on this ship, this ship she didn't even know the name of. Her husband was a man she had loved since she had first met him, and though they had been betrothed without their knowledge, both of them eventually approved of it. They loved each other, and the fact that they had been apart for nearly four years made their love beat stronger.

Sighing, Tristia turned around, her eyes sorrowful, as was usual. She strolled the length of the ship easily, her gait compensating for the movement of the ship, her movement on it as natural as could possible be. She could have been raised on a ship, but she wasn't, she persisted in convincing the Captain and his Mate of that early on. As they were the only two honorable men on the floating hell-hole, she told them that in earnest, and learned of its spread by the way the seamen looked at her strangely when she passed by.

Opening the door to the Captain's cabin which had been furnished for her and the other four passengers, she smiled at the two children and the other two women. "It's a beautiful day out there," she said, looking from one of the women to the other. One was clutching her stomach, the other holding her hand tightly. "The sun is setting, very vibrant," Tristia persisted.

One of the children, a little boy about seven years of age came over to her and took her hand. "Show me," he commanded.

His little sister, a girl of four clutched at her brother's hand. "Me too!" she cried, not willing to be left out.

Tristintia could remember when she was so young; she was slightly envious of the two children. She had five brothers, no sisters. Two of her brothers were older, one by four years, one by only a scant one year. Two of her other brothers were five years younger, and her fifth brother was nineteen, and had only just finished his formal education.

Walking the children to the bow where she had been standing just a few moments before, she pointed in the direction of the sunset. The little girl was enamored with its colors, but the little boy was distracted.

"What's that over there?" he asked, pointing over the port rail of the merchant ship to a splotch of black in the distance.

Tristia took a few moments gazing at it, and then turned back to the child. "It's a ship," she stated firmly. "You have good eyes," she complimented him, not waiting for a smile. The tall woman studied it more, then took the boy's hand from hers. "Go back to the cabin and wait for me."

"Why?" the little boy pouted, his lower lip sticking out.

"Because I said so, and this is what is best for you, trust me." She spun abruptly on her heel and stalked, as quickly as she could stalk, for the bridge. She climbed the stairs and confronted the Captain, who was conversing with his Mate.

"Sir," she sighed. "There's something I need to look at using your telescope."

The Captain looked mystified, but took it from his belt and handed it to her. "Thank you," she said.

The words 'you're welcome' formed on his lips, but she turned away, her hair whirled too abruptly for him to say them. She was intent on her task, and wouldn't even acknowledge him until she was satisfied.

"Damnit!" she muttered, her eyes now angry, flashing red. "I was right," she finished, handing the telescope to the Captain. "Take a look for yourself. There, portside. It's a ship. A pirate ship."

The Captain was still a bit surprised by her speech, but he took the telescope and looked towards where Tristia's long finger was pointed. "You have really good eyes if you could see that without this," he said.

"It wasn't me," she said, angered he wasn't doing something. "It was the little boy. But that ship is gaining fast, this," she searched her mind for the right words, "tub, could never outrun it."

Sighing, the Captain handed the 'scope to the Mate, who had extended his hand for it. "We'll take evasive maneuvers than. Which flag is it flying?" he asked, a twinge of worry in his otherwise cocksure voice.

"Jolly Roger," she replied, before the Mate could. "Time is running out. The hourglass is tipped over."

The Captain took a stance on the bridge and shouted to his crew. "Men! We have spotted a pirate ship approaching, portside. Man the guns, unfurl the sails, and fire first!"

Soon, the ship was a hive of activity. Sailors scurried back and forth, brawny arms bristling. Some carried arms, pistols and swords, others were set at their cannons, their eyes mischievous, ready to shed some pirate blood.

Tristintia Nervan stood on the bridge, next to the Captain. "I will not say I told you so," she muttered.

"Thank you for that small favor," he shot back. "And the little boy who spotted it, isn't he your…"

"It's almost here," she cut him off, not willing to discuss the little boy, as though it would discredit her.

The merchant ship reeled as they fired their first broadside as the pirate ship pulled up next to them. The fight was on. "…No place for women," the Captain finished.

"I'll stay," she said, firmly. "Besides, you'll need all the help you can get."

"Take this then," the Captain offered her one of his flintlock pistols which she grasped as any fighter would, sure and confidant in her abilities. The Captain seemed a bit uneasy handing the woman a gun, but she had a set in her face which told him she'd fight with them.

Their conversation had taken longer than either of them had anticipated. The pirates were boarding, swords and daggers gripped between their teeth, pistols in bandoliers crossing their chests. To Tristia's angry eyes they all looked the same. Though she had a lethal weapon in her hand, she didn't aim to kill. She angled her pistol at the first pirate's kneecap, and pulled the trigger. It shattered in a mass of carnage, bone, and blood. He fell to the deck, writhing in pain.

She took a step forward and fired again, then again, and again, as she took first a step, and then a shot. The pirates her bullets hit slithered on the deck in their own blood. She backed up, towards the door to the cabin where the other innocent's were. She opened the door, backed into the room and closed the door. A candlestick crashed against the back of her knee and she collapsed.

The little boy paled as he looked at her, weapon in his hand. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Ma'am," he cried out.

"It's alright, I'm alright," Tristia struggled with the words and fought her body's impulse to keep her on the floor. "Just give me that candlestick."

The boy handed it to her, and she secured the door handles by jamming it down on them. "Good. Now get behind me, all of you."

She pulled from under the mattress of her bed two sheathed swords, pulling them from their sheathes one at a time and weighing them in her hand. Glancing over at the other two women she laughed at seeing their pale faces. "I haven't used them in a long time, but I still know what I'm doing, there's no need to worry."

The little girl and the two women were quick to obey her, and stood behind her, moving as she moved, to make them less easy targets for the pirates. "You two, little man," she said to the boy, who was taken with the pistol she had set aside. Transferring one of her swords to the other hand, she took the pistol from him, and shoved him behind her and his sister. "Follow my movements as much as you can. Make yourselves as small as you can, and if I fall, don't fight back. They might let you live if you don't give them a reason to kill you."

She didn't have time to say more. One of the pirates outside of their cabin took his pistol and fired it at the door handle. The shock of it shattered the wood and the candlestick jumped back as though surprised. Woodchips flew back and Tristia brought the hand holding the pistol up to her eyes so no chips would pierce them. Lowering her hand, she took careful aim at the first pirate's leg. Firing, she heard the crack of gun and bone, almost simultaneously. She fired again, the bullet taking out the kneecap of the second pirate. Bringing the hammer back, she took careful aim at the next pirate's sword arm. She pulled the trigger, the hammer collided with the flint. Nothing happened.

Cursing colorfully, she threw the pistol at the grinning pirate to no avail. He deflected it with his sword. Tossing one of the swords she held in her left hand to her right, she took a fighting stance, the light of battle in her eyes. Advancing two steps, she struck out with her right sword. The pirate anticipated it and blocked. In that moment, she brought her left sword to slice across his un-protected abdomen. Swinging her leg, she brought her foot crashing into his head.

He was the last one of his group. Tristia took several breaths, turning back to the four she protected. "Get back," she breathed, "closer to the windows."

"You killed them!" One of the women exclaimed, running at Tristia and pounding her arm.

For a few moments, she let the abuse of her upper left arm continue, then, whirling, dropped her swords and grabbed the wrists of the woman hitting her, who immediately burst into tears. "I didn't kill any one of them. If they've got a good enough doctor on that blasted ship of theirs, they'll all survive. But you shouldn't care about them, Miss Whittaker. They're the ones trying to kill us, and for all we know, most of the crew on _this_ ship is already dead." Tristia knelt to pick up her swords. "Get back by the windows, crouch down, hide, something of the sort."

"Why should we listen to you? You're just like them!" the woman cried through her tears.

"I'm not just like them," Tristia insisted. "I'm trying to help you, they, obviously, are not!" She sighed, turning back to the open door. "If you choose not to listen to me, I will not be held responsible for what happens to you. There are worse fates than death, Miss Whittaker, fates these men are ready and willing to exact. I suggest you get back by the window."

One of the pirates Tristia had so efficiently wounded groaned. Loudly. Her gaze was drawn to him, and she contemplated putting him out of his misery for a scant moment, when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Pirates on the deck had heard their comrade's moan. Swearing under her breath, her eyes switched to look at the advancing pirates. It was then she realized she was right in their line of vision. The other four had gotten out of view of the door, but not Tristia.

Did she intend to fight al four of them and come out on to? Surely not. Did she intend to put up her swords and surrender? Of course not. Did she intend to fight and die? Hopefully not. But she did intend to fight. And if it came to it, she would do whatever her heart told her was best.

Taking a fighting stance, she could feel her muscles tighten, awaiting the oncoming battle. The first pirate entered, she didn't even bother to look at him before lunging on the offensive, twin blades ready. The pirate pulled out a blade of his own, but only one. Their closeness was unnerving, but Tristintia Nervan, daughter of the Nervan Line, was prepared to handle it.

There was a scent of rum on his breath, but she took that in stride. If he was moderately drunk, that was all the better. His hair was held back by a red bandana, but still some of it hung out. Parts that did were beaded, though some was normal. It still appeared greasy and unkempt, but pirates did not care about their appearance, Tristia knew that as she countered one of his attacks with her right sword.

With that sword, she slashed open his thigh and spun out of his sword reach, only to see his pistol, and the three of his comrades, aimed at her head.

"Giving up so easily?" she asked him, panting for breath.

"A' course not, luv," the pirate returned. He fired his pistol.

As she sank to the floor, her world spinning, the pirate knelt by her bleeding head and murmured to her the last words she would ever hear. "Ye got to remember, luv, we don't have a code of…"


End file.
